


solutes and solvents

by alynshir



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, PoV 3rd Person, Romance, third person, this is just feelings and trains of thought, yeza pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 06:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynshir/pseuds/alynshir
Summary: yeza knows it’s veth from the little things.





	solutes and solvents

**Author's Note:**

> hello it’s been 2928282 years since i have written a fanfiction

he knows it’s her from the little things.

(not that he doesn’t believe it’s her at first, exactly, but he’s been in the dark for what feels like centuries, and it’s been a very stressful few months of his life, and it wouldn’t surprise him if he’d forgotten how to make the most basic - and acidic, heh, alchemist humor - solutions, let alone remember in the moment the nuances of his wife. what an awful thing, really, to forget one of the people you love most, but in his situation, could you really blame him? maybe, but he’s trying not to be too hard on himself, and trying not to be hard on anyone. especially not her)

he knows it’s her because even when he first sees her in a different body, with a different face and a very different mouth - my, what big teeth she has! and so many! -, her smile curves up in that same hopeful, nervous, crooked little way it did when he first said he loved her. 

the incident itself had been spur of the moment, honestly, it wasn’t all kinds of fanfare and sugar-spun sweetness like in the stories; it had been any day, and they could have been doing anything. nothing was notable in that moment, nothing except for her, and, look at her, look at her and tell him that you don’t love her! you can’t, and neither could he, so he said so without thinking, and then without his usual sheepishness, because what was there to be sheepish about? “really,” she’d said, her mouth curving up in that crooked way, “for real?” and it had been for real, and he’d never meant anything more and that smile, that was the most beautiful thing in the world that day, and he supposes it might not be the most unique smile in the world, but if anyone else had looked at him like that, he certainly hadn’t been paying attention, nor did he care to begin.

he’d know that smile anywhere, even if no one else could pick it out of a crowd.

and if he hadn’t been sure then, if there’d been any worry in his mind that it was some sort of torturous, elaborate trick on the part of the Dynasty, when she smiled, he knew, because his Veth, his Nott, his  _wife_,  that smile was just for the two of them, born in a moment where there was nothing in the world but them, and he is no magician, but if he knows one thing, for all the magics in the world, no one could trick him with the magic that was  them .

he knows it’s her from the sound of her footsteps, too.

(they’ve changed in the past years, he thinks, she’s so quiet now, he thinks, nobody would ever hear her coming, and that thought fills him with an odd sense of pride, because he’s married to the stealthiest girl in the world, and how cool is that?)

and despite the years and the change and the everything that’s happened, her pockets still jingle. it’s not a traditional sound, exactly, not quite coins in a bag, something any common man could track in the darkness, no; her pockets click and rattle in the tentative way of different things introducing themselves. there’s the confident sound of rocks and of thick bits of wood, there’s the chattering clacks of buttons of every different shape and size against each other, there’s the telltale clinks of quartzes and of crystals waiting for their chance to sparkle, there’s all of that and more - 

and to anyone else it would just be the sounds of a quiet night and the world shifting underneath the blanket of the sky, but he, he is not new to the whims of his wife, he knows the sounds of heavy pockets full of curiosity, and even if he had forgotten it about her - her son does not fall far from the tree, and it’s something he’s thought quite frequently about, actually, in his darker hours, imagining the pair of them, hand in hand, both coming home to him with full hearts and fuller pockets, full of treasures to show him and treasures that could never possibly be worth as much to him as his family is.

most importantly, though, he knows it’s her by her voice.

(not the sound of it in objectivity, of course - while her voice isn’t like many he’s ever heard, he supposes statistically speaking that other people in the world could sound like her, although none would - how would beauregard say it? none would  “rock it”  quite like she does.)

it’s not about the sound of it that makes it hers, he thinks, but rather the heat of it, the forge and the bellows and the burner and the hearth and the  fire of it all. he’s heard her his entire _life,_ and he, and their son, even, have been only so lucky to know that warmth, that dedication, the comfort that she brings just by her association, but now it’s different, and in a way that is even more familiar than the woman he knew before. 

it’s there in how she speaks about the wizard she picked up in her travels - how she speaks about all of her new friends, something that delights him to know she has. it’s something neither of them had ever been wealthy with, but he can hear it in the determination and the ferocity simmering in her voice nowadays how fiercely she cares, how much they mean to her, and how devoted she is to them. it’s funny, he thinks, how many would feel jealous by knowing their wife is so devotedto and passionate about others, and how instead of jealousy he only feels relief, only feels grateful and feels peaceful. 

if there’s one thing he knows a lot about, it’s the sciences, it’s how heat and light and energy thrive and mix and can be used to create and destroy - and if there’s one thing he knows more than anything about his wife, she runs on love, she kindles it and keeps it burning in her chest like a fire in the darkness of winter, and he hears it in every word she says, in every sound and in every breath, even, - they say caleb has much to do with fire, but he thinks his wife is the one who has it mastered, who lives it, who breathes it, who is made of it.

love is a big thing, so people say, and to an extent he’d agree. he’s heard love shines a light through the darkness, love defeats all else, love will save the world, love is what is written about and what will last long after he’s gone. he’s not so much a scholar of things like that, of poetry and of art and of the ways each person sees things. but if Yeza Brenatto understands the ways of the world properly - and he does, - he knows that all things are made of something, and all big things are made of smaller things. and he knows his wife, and he knows her in all that she is, and that’s love, and for all love is in its grandiosity, it must be made of little things too. a smile, a sound, what burns behind a voice, 

he knows her from the little things, and little things add up.

**Author's Note:**

> pls enjoy and leave a review tellin me if ya liked it!!


End file.
